


A Very Dangerous Place

by martinisandart



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: A Couch, Drinks, F/M, Psychoanalyse, Psychology, Romance, after death and hysteria, aunt p could you NOT, me pretending I know how to write, nightcaps, omg a couch, oooh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 19:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20263075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martinisandart/pseuds/martinisandart
Summary: The biscuit box is empty, and left with a teasing note, and with nothing better to do, a bored Detective Inspector joins Miss Fisher for a drink, but rather than his usual armchair, he opts for the couch. Perhaps this is a chance for that promised psychoanalysation?





	A Very Dangerous Place

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:  
He felt, suddenly, that centre of this woman’s attention was a very bad place to be.

“Do I have to put you on the couch and psychoanalyse you?”  
“Sounds inviting. Perhaps another time, in a more... intimate setting.” 

Jack sighed, and tipped back in the chair behind his desk at City South Police Station. The day had been long, harrowing even, and even with the too many pieces of paperwork to count that lay on his desk, his mind kept wandering, going off track and thinking about the sparkle that had been in Phryne’s eyes when she had teased him about the Chinese brothel case. It was a sparkle that, he thought to himself, was becoming more and more common in the conversations between them. He would bring something up, she would tease him about it, and then they would both be left standing in the other’s personal space, eyes drifting up and down one another’s body- Miss Fisher looking at him through lowered lashes and wetting her lip, and neither of them taking the chance to make the first move. Jack, admittedly, regretted not making any moves on the many occasions that the opportunity had arisen. Perhaps it was better that he had not? After all, he thought, only a couple of weeks early he had gone off on his tangent about not being a liberal minded man, and that seemed to have pushed her away for a little bit- made her take a step back. It was always two steps forward, one step back for the two of them. Whenever they got close to anything, someone, something, some damn nerve tonic, decided to interrupt! 

A knock on the door pulled Jack from his thoughts, and shuffling the papers into some semblance of order, he sniffed.  
“Come in!”  
Constable Martin pushed open the door to Jack’s office with a thermos of tea in one hand, and a cup in the other. He was already in his coat, ready to leave for the day, and had an awkward smile on his face as he pointed to the clock on the mantle.  
“I’m heading off for the day, sir.” he said, placing the thermos on Jack’s desk before stepping back. He smoothed his uniform.  
“Very good, Martin.” said Jack, looking up at the naïve constable who had stepped in to take Collins place while he fished his way through a week off. A sigh formed in his throat, but he pushed it down, instead opting for a forced smile.  
“I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.”  
The younger man nodded, and gestured to the papers that covered his superior’s desk.  
“Having a late night, sir?”  
Jack inwardly rolled his eyes, and looked back down at his mess of white sheets, covered in his spidering font.  
“Afraid so, constable.” he said, in a manner that was anything but afraid,  
“It’s best to close up a case on the same day it is finished up, avoids unnecessary ordeals later on in time. Besides. It’s not like Miss Fisher will be swanning in to help us with paperwork any time soon!”  
Martin chuckled good-naturedly.  
“Of course not, sir, she doesn’t seem the type.” he paused.  
“See you tomorrow then, sir.”  
Jack nodded in his general direction, and turned back to the paperwork at hand, sipping his tea as he did so, and Martin slipped out the door. 

Fifteen minutes later, most of the paperwork was complete, and Jack sighed into his empty cup.  
“I think it’s time for a biscuit.” he said to his empty office, and piling up the papers, clipped them all neatly together, tucking them into a manilia folder, and then into his draw. He would send them off to the higher offices tomorrow morning, but for now? It was time for a snack. 

His hand reached for the drawer that held his secret stash of Anzac biscuits, and picking up the box, he frowned. It was surprisingly... light? The furrow in his brow deepened once he opened the tin, and his suspicions were proven once again correct. The box was empty, save a few crumbs and a crumbled piece of Woolworths notepaper scented slightly of roses, written upon in a swirling font which he was very familiar with, that read: 

‘You really need to find a better hiding place for these, Jack dear. If you hide them where I can’t find them, I’ll take the recipe instead. No doubt you’ll scold me once you realise they’re all gone, but they’re just too delicious! - P’ 

Jack rolled his eyes, and rather than screwing up the note, smoothed it and tucked into the pocket where he also kept her police photograph. Damn that woman! He laughed quietly to himself. He was going to snack, finish writing and then pop by Wardlow, but with a lack of biscuits and no desire to keep filling out forms, he stood up and donned his coat and hat. Perhaps he would switch up the order of his evening, just this once. 

* * *

“The Inspector to see you, Miss.”  
Mr. Butler opened the door to the parlour and lead the Inspector inside to where Miss Fisher was sat in her usual armchair, a crime novel in hand and a half drunk glass of whiskey on the side table. Although she hadn’t yet looked up from her book, a small smile played on her lips; of course, she had heard the doorbell go, known it would only be one person at this time of the evening, and couldn’t help grinning into her book when she heard his deep timbre from outside the room. The perfect end to the day. 

Once Mr. Butler had exited, and closed the door behind him, Phryne rose from her chair, positively glowing as she tugged her thin, lace wrap around her shoulders, and smiled softly at him.  
“Not doing all that paperwork I neglected, Jack?”  
Her tone was light, teasing, and once she finished speaking, she glanced over at him.  
“Do sit down, do you want a drink? Who am I kidding, of course you want a drink.” she walked over to the drinks cart, pouring a generous measure of whiskey into the crystal-cut glass that had recently been renamed as Jack’s glass- at least in her mind. She meandered back over to him with a smile still playing on her lips, and tracing her hand across his shoulder, passed him the drink, before raising an eyebrow. Something was out of place.

She glanced furtively around the room- nothing seemed wrong. The drapes were drawn as they usually were at this time in the evening, the mantelpiece still held all its usual treasures, and the lamplight cast a soft glow onto the room. Her own glass was still half full, the swallow pin still clung to her thin scarf like there was nowhere else for it to be, and Jack was.... aha!  
“Jaaaaaack?” Phryne drew out the word far longer than necessary, and a shiver fell down the aforementioned man’s spine.  
“Yes, Miss Fisher?” he kept his voice steady while her eyes roamed over him.  
“Why are you sat on the couch?” her voice was innocent, curious, and Jack smiled.  
“Well, I believe you made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”  
Phryne raised a brow.  
“Don’t you want to psychoanalyse me, Miss Fisher?” He sipped his drink nonchalantly, and smiled as her face lit up and she crossed the floor, pulling the chair she had been sat in before a little closer, before perching on it’s edge.  
She met his grey-blue eyes with a smile.  
“I do, Jack.” She said softly.

Jack closed his eyes, and without a word between them, Phryne began to silently analyse him. He opened his mouth to speak, and she only shushed him.  
“Don’t give me that tosh about not being able to recall trauma.” she said.  
“I’m trying to read you like a book, and I’m not Mac, so I’m not good at it. Do keep quiet.”  
She wriggled in her chair, tucking her legs underneath herself, and placed one hand under her chin. Jack stayed silent, and a moment later, Phryne spoke up again.  
“There’s a lot that I don’t know about you, inspector.” she said in a near whisper, and fiddled with the pin on her scarf, running her fingers over the blue and green glass, letting the cool metal ground her.  
“For example, lord only knows how you found this pin.”  
Jack opened his eyes for a second, but once he realised she was looking off into the distance, closed them again.  
“When I checked her health van, it wasn’t there, and it had been stolen days before anyone thought to check! For all I know, you went out to every pawnbroker’s, every jewellery store, every local arrondissement that sold pretty, sparkly things, and looked to see if it was there. Which- you didn’t need to do, but I find it hard to believe you didn’t do the noble thing!”  
Jack sighed. She had hit the nail on the head, as per usual, but he wasn’t planning on telling her that any time soon. He had spend embarrassingly long searching the streets of Melbourne proper and even backstreet Collingwood for that pin, and the moment he found it, he had almost planned on selling his life to get it back to it’s rightful owner; and Gods, the look on her face had been worth it- that sweet, loving look, that meant the world to him. He was dragged back to the present by the sound of her voice, it’s pitch being higher than before.  
“-you probably don’t want to talk about the brothel because it embarrasses you, but really I should be the one who’s embarrassed, forcing you to pull stories out of thin air! I mean all this time, you put up with me at investigative ordeals, in your office, in your personal life, even in the evenings you come here out of choice, I mean, lord, if I was to take Mr. Butler’s place, Jack, and look in at this, I would think that we would seem utterly infatuated with one another!” She blushed. 

Jack was lost for words. It suddenly occurred to him, that the centre of The Honourable Phryne Fisher’s attention was, in fact, a very bad place to be. 

“Jack?”  
He opened his eyes to see her looking away from him, legs tucked up and arms wrapped around herself,  
“I’m sorry if that was too forward.”  
Jack stretched, and stood up, placing his drink on the table and going to his usual place in the parlour, leaning against the fireplace mantle.  
“You’re always that forward, Miss Fisher.” he said softly,  
“Even when it comes to stealing my biscuits.”  
He saw the smile pull at her lips before her laugh could be heard.  
“They’re delicious Jack, it’s not my fault!”  
Jack rolled his eyes, and leaning down, clasped her hands between his.  
“Never stop being so forward, Miss Fisher. It’s one of your best traits.” 

Phryne, ever the intellectual, took his hint, and leaning closer, let her fingers trace the curve of his cheek.  
“Is that true, Jack?” she was smiling now, red lips curved into a half circle, and eyes sparkling with what was yet to come.  
“Would I lie to you?”  
Phryne smiled, and leaning so there was but a hair’s width between them, whispered onto his lips.  
“I never do know with you, inspector. Even when I try to psychoanalyse you, you’re still a mystery to me.” 

The door to the parlour burst open with a crash, and the two detectives jumped apart, Prudence Stanley coming into the room with a crash.  
“Phryne dear, what have I said about staying up too late, especially the day before the tennis tournament! I was going to bed when I saw the light was still on, how you get caught up in those crime books quite so much I do not know! It’s unbecoming!”  
Her eyes clocked the Inspector, who was wearing a look of awkward pain on his face.  
“Inspector!”  
“Mrs Stanley.”  
Prudence looked back and forth between Jack and Phryne, who now had her head in her hands.  
“Aunt P is right Jack.” Phryne said with a deep sigh.  
“I’ll walk you to the door and then go to bed... you go off to bed now, Aunt P.”  
The elder woman huffed in an unamused manner and left, and Jack walked out the parlour, Phryne on his heels. She passed him his hat, and gently tucked his coat around him, stroking his lapels with a slightly hazy smile.  
“Goodnight, Jack.”  
Jack, taking the opportunity of her in a happy haze, bent down and kissed her lightly on the cheek.  
“Goodnight Miss Fisher.” he paused.  
“Feel free to psychoanalyse me again soon.”  
She laughed, and opened the door.  
“Don’t say that, Jack. I just might take you up on it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Thursday, happy fic day!  
Today we bring back the fact that death and hysteria is one of my favourite episodes, and also the fact that I just wanted to see Phryne psychoanalyse Jack- it was too tempting!  
Kudos are loved, comments are adored, and I hope to see you next week for another installment of Phrack!  
Love, T x  
P.S; the phrack love has make it’s way to Instagram! Find me @/martinisandart <3


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